


darling, sweet lover, won't you help me to recover

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Hurt!Jolras, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mugging, body worship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets mugged on the way to his second date with Grantaire. Classic Hurt/Comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Recovery" by Frank Turner.

_Knock, knock._

Grantaire flies off the couch to get to the door as quickly as possible, then waits a few seconds before opening it so as not to look desperate.

“It’s 6:02, and you’re late, so you better have a good— holy shit!”

Grantaire was expecting Enjolras, so it’s not surprising that it’s him on the other side of the door. What is surprising is that Enjolras’s coat is dirty, his lip is split open, and there’s a black bruise starting to form under his right eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Grantaire yells, moving aside so that Enjolras can come into the apartment.

“I tripped and fell,” Enjolras says far too calmly, taking off his coat and shoes and sitting down on the couch, wincing through the movements. “Can I have some ice for my eye if it’s not too much trouble?”

Grantaire sputters and flails, unable to sort out the million questions he wants to ask. Instead of talking, he quickly runs into the kitchen and puts some ice into a towel and wraps it up, then grabs another towel and heads back to the living room.

“Here,” Grantaire says, sitting down on the coffee table in front of Enjolras and handing over the ice. “And put this one on your lip.” He passes over the other towel, and Enjolras moves them both up to his face.

“Not like that!” Grantaire almost shouts when Enjolras slaps the towel with the ice right over his eye. Grantaire moves his hand away and repositions it so that it’s further down. “You can’t put ice directly on your eye, you’ll get frostbite.”

Enjolras tilts his head. “You’re First-Aid certified all of a sudden?” he mumbles through the towel.

“I’ve been in my share of fights,” Grantaire answers, about to start telling a story when he realizes what Enjolras is doing. “Quit trying to change the subject. Tell me what actually happened, because there’s no way you got this from tripping and falling.”

“Fine,” Enjolras huffs. “I got in a fight, too.”

“With who?”

“Some guys on the street. Well, it started on the street, then moved into the alley.”

“Guys?! Plural?”

“Yeah, three of them.”

Grantaire runs his hands through his hair, trying to process what Enjolras has just said and trying to quash down the indignant anger that comes with the understanding.

“Enjolras, three-against-one isn’t a fight. That’s you getting mugged.”

Enjolras takes both towels in one hand and uses the other to fish his wallet out of his back pocket. “They didn’t steal anything, so technically, I wasn’t mugged.”

Grantaire leans forward, a hand on Enjolras’s knee. “Then why did they beat you up?” Grantaire asks softly.

Enjolras looks away from Grantaire. “I think it was because of this,” he says, pointing at the cockade boutonniere that’s pinned to his jacket.

 _Ah,_ Grantaire thinks. The rosette is a symbol of their campus group Les Amis De L’ABC. Grantaire has one in his dresser somewhere that he only brings out for big events, but Enjolras, being their leader, wears his every day.

Their group had gotten some bad press recently when some jerk writer from the school newspaper had decided to publish a takedown of their goals, particularly their work against the school itself. Unfortunately, from the chatter Grantaire overheard in the halls, a lot of students at the university had agreed. Enjolras had been furious.

“I mean, they didn’t explicitly say so,” Enjolras continues, “but they called me a communist at one point, so I figured that was what they were getting at.”

“A _communist_?”

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty flattering, too.”

 _Since when are you a fucking comedian?_ Grantaire thinks. “Let me check your lip,” he says.

Grantaire gently guides Enjolras’s hand away, taking the towel with it. The cut is still bleeding, though the flow has become lighter.

“Okay,” Grantaire says slowly. “I think you should go to the hospital to get this looked at just in case, and then when we’re there we can call the police.”

Enjolras snorts. “No, and no.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“The word’s pretty clear, Grantaire.”

“But your lip hasn’t stopped bleeding; it might need stitches. And you have to report this, you can’t just let these guys get away with it—”

“Since when are you such a believer in the police?” Enjolras asks, ignoring the first part of Grantaire’s speech.

“Since it’s you who got hurt,” Grantaire says, raising a hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek. He brushes his thumb across the good side of Enjolras’s bottom lip.

Yesterday, when he had done that for the first time, it had been under very different circumstances. But there’s no time to think about that now.

“Besides, do you really want to let them get away with it? They could do this to other people, too.”

“They’ll be long gone by now, and the cops aren’t going to be able to do anything. And we’ve got work to do.”

Grantaire remembers then that the reason Enjolras had come over – or one of the reasons – was so that Grantaire could go over his speech for next week’s rally.

Enjolras uses his free hand to pull a flash drive from his pocket and stick it in Grantaire’s computer on the table, purposefully ignoring Grantaire’s open-mouthed stare.

“Fine,” Grantaire says. It can be so hard to say no to Enjolras. Grantaire will just have to choose his battles wisely. “We won’t call the cops. But I’m calling Combeferre to come check your lip.”

“Whatever,” Enjolras says, pulling the computer onto his lap.

Grantaire makes a quick call to Combeferre – from the other room, so Enjolras won’t hear the panic he finally lets slip into his voice – and then goes to sit beside Enjolras on the couch. Enjolras tries asking Grantaire a question about the speech, but Grantaire refuses to answer until after Combeferre’s done with him. Enjolras just shrugs and goes back to editing the speech himself.

Combeferre shows up ten minutes later with his first-aid kit in hand and Courfeyrac on his heels.

“Oh my god, your face!!” Courfeyrac screeches when they come in.

“Courf, that’s not helping,” Combeferre says patiently. He crosses the room to sit where Grantaire had on the coffee table, Courfeyrac settling on the arm of the couch on Grantaire’s side. “What happened?”

“Some Young Conservative douchebags didn’t like my pin,” Enjolras answers. At least it’s closer to the truth this time.

“Hold still,” Combeferre says, moving the towels away from Enjolras’s face. Grantaire is relieved to see that the bleeding from Enjolras’s lip has mostly stopped.

“Does he have to go to the hospital?” Grantaire asks.

Combeferre examines Enjolras a bit more, deliberating. “No,” he finally decides.

Enjolras looks over at Grantaire, smug. “Told you.”

“ _Just barely no_ ,” Combeferre rephrases, chastising. “The cut’s pretty deep. Even a tiny bit deeper and it could have needed stitches. But the bleeding’s stopped, so you should be fine. I’m going to clean it up.” He rummages around in his bag for some gauze and antiseptic.

“Did you talk to the cops already?” Courfeyrac asks.

“He won’t let me call them,” Grantaire answers.

“Figures,” Courf says, rolling his eyes. “You know, this is one instance in which the cops might actually be useful,” he adds.

“I already said—” Enjolras starts.

“Shh, stop talking,” Combeferre says, still trying to tend to his lip.

“Are you hurt anywhere else other than your lip and your eye?” Combeferre asks once he’s stuck a bandage over Enjolras’s cut.

“No,” Enjolras answers.

“You’re lying,” Grantaire says without thinking. Then he looks to Combeferre. “He’s lying,” he says. “It hurt him to take off his coat when he came in.”

Combeferre gives Enjolras a do-not-bullshit-me look. “Where else did they hurt you?”

Enjolras just stares at him for a while, then pulls up his shirt and points to his side. There aren’t bruises there yet, but his entire left side is red and tender-looking.

“They kicked me, a few times,” Enjolras mumbles. “Hurts.”

Enjolras’s words chill Grantaire as they wash over him. _Kicked? They had you on the ground?_

“I’m going to check if your ribs are broken,” Combeferre says, his voice breaking a little, no longer holding his clinically detached tone. “This is probably going to hurt a little.”

He prods at Enjolras’s ribs, which stick out more prominently than Grantaire had imagined, and Enjolras winces at the touch. Grantaire wants so badly to reach out and hold him, but he knows it would only hurt him more.

“Not broken,” Combeferre finally says, clearly relieved. “You’ll have bruises tomorrow, but you’ll be okay soon enough.” Grantaire feels himself release a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Combeferre looks at the clock on the wall. It’s 6:45 p.m.

“I really hate to leave you like this, but I have class in fifteen minutes. Are you going to stay here? Maybe Courfeyrac or Grantaire can walk you if you want to go home?”

“I’m staying,” Enjolras says, picking up the laptop again, though this time he doesn’t succeed in hiding that it hurts to do so. “Grantaire and I have work to do.”

“We are not working on the stupid speech now—”

“Stupid?!” Enjolras asks, glaring at Grantaire before turning back to the screen.

Grantaire sighs. “I’ll walk him home when we’re done,” Grantaire says to Combeferre.

“Okay,” Combeferre says. He starts to get up, but stops and looks at Enjolras. “Are you sure you’re okay, Enjolras? Like… mentally?”

“Can’t hear you, trying to work,” Enjolras replies. Combeferre just throws his hands in the air and heads for the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Courfeyrac says, springing up from the couch. _“Wouldn’t want to be a third wheel_ ,” he whispers so that only Grantaire can hear. Grantaire smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “Feel better Enj!” Courfeyrac calls as he and Combeferre exit into the hallway.

Grantaire shuts the door behind them and comes back to the couch. Enjolras is tapping away at the keyboard. Grantaire reaches out and circles his wrists.

“You can’t do this tonight,” he says.

“It has to get done. And you said you’d help me.”

“It doesn’t have to get done right now,” Grantaire says. “You need to relax. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Just drop it!” Enjolras yells. “I don’t want to call the cops, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think about it! I just want to work on this.”

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire relents. “It’s fine. Give me the laptop.”

They work on the speech for the rest of the evening, only pausing so that Grantaire can make them tomato soup for dinner, which Enjolras drinks from a mug through a straw. Every time Enjolras gets up, to go to the bathroom or to get a drink from the kitchen, he grimaces at the pain in his side, and Grantaire’s heart breaks for him.

They finish around nine-thirty. Grantaire switches on the TV to check the hockey score while Enjolras saves the file, and Enjolras looks up after, watching the game, so Grantaire just leaves it on and settles back beside him. He lets his mind wander, thinking about what they were doing at the same time the previous evening.

_They had just gotten back to Enjolras’s apartment building after the movie. They were standing in the doorway, close enough that Enjolras’s breath was ghosting Grantaire’s face._

_“You have so much snow in your hair,” Enjolras had said, before reaching up to brush it away, lingering for just a second too long—_

_Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’s hands and pulled them to his chest, moving forward so that their noses were touching._

_“I’m going to kiss you now,” Grantaire whispered, lifting his hand to run his thumb over Enjolras’s bottom lip. “Okay?”_

_“Okay,” Enjolras said with a smile, and Grantaire closed the distance between them._

A snore from beside him brings Grantaire out of his reverie. He looks over and sees that Enjolras has fallen asleep on the couch.

As peaceful as he looks after not having relaxed all night, Grantaire doesn’t want to let him sleep in such an uncomfortable position.

“Hey,” he says quietly, touching Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras slowly opens his eyes. “You were asleep. Do you want me to walk you home now?”

“Can I just sleep here?” Enjolras asks, his voice very small.

“Sure,” Grantaire says, unused to seeing Enjolras so quiet. “You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t have to, you can sleep in there with me.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Grantaire says with a smile, “but I’m afraid I might roll over and hurt you in the night. I’m fine on the couch.”

Enjolras doesn’t say anything back, just starts to get up and then flinches at the pain. Grantaire takes him by the arm and helps him into the bedroom and into the bed, sliding Enjolras’s jeans off his ankles when he can’t bend down without crying out.

Grantaire watches him close his eyes in the dark, whispering _goodnight_ and leaning in to kiss him on the forehead, but Enjolras has already fallen back asleep. Grantaire grabs his pajama pants before heading back into the living room to watch the end of the hockey game, texting Combeferre to let him know that Enjolras is staying the night.

Any other day, Grantaire would have been thrilled to hear that his second date with Enjolras would end with Enjolras in his bed, but right now he only feels sad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I debated on whether or not to put a violence warning on this. I think it's mild enough that it should be fine, but if you are super easily triggered by violence, maybe skip the first part of this that's in italics? The story will still make sense without it.

_Enjolras walked down a side street lined with old houses-turned-apartments, taking a shortcut to Grantaire’s. It had already been dark outside for an hour by 5:30, just one of the many reasons Enjolras despised the winter._

_The street was deserted, though Enjolras supposed most of the students who lived there were either eating dinner at that time or were stuck at the library studying for exams. There was only one other person on the street, a guy who was shorter but much broader than Enjolras, who was quickly coming up behind him._

_The guy drew level with him, making Enjolras awkwardly move to the side of the pavement._

_“Nice flower,” the guy said, his tone making it clear that it was not a compliment._

_Enjolras just nodded, then started walking faster. His legs were much longer than this guy’s; he’d have to run if he wanted to keep up._

_Enjolras couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy, but when he looked back, the guy was at least fifteen feet behind him. Relieved, he continued on his way, excited to see Grantaire._

_Then two other men stepped out from an alley right in front of him, blocking his path._

_Had his brain been working faster, Enjolras would have seen that he had a good three seconds with which to escape. He could have turned and run across the street; he’s fast enough that it’s unlikely any of these guys would have been able to catch him. Or he could have yelled, and maybe someone inside would have come out to see what was going on._

_Unfortunately, our minds aren’t always at their best when we’re in crisis, and before Enjolras could think about any of this, the guy walking behind him had caught up and they had him surrounded._

_“I gave you a compliment,” the first guy said. Enjolras whipped his head around. “You didn’t say ‘thank you.’”_

_Ever stubborn, Enjolras replied, “It wasn’t a compliment.”_

_“I said I liked your flower, prettyboy,” the guy said. He was young, Enjolras could see up close, maybe even younger than him, but that didn’t change his size._

_“You think you’re real great, don’t you,” one of the other men put in. Enjolras could smell alcohol on his breath. It wasn’t a question, so Enjolras didn’t answer. The man continued. “You think being in that stupid commi club makes you better than everyone else.”_

_Enjolras was trying to decide whether he should tell the guy a) that their club isn’t communist or b) that using ‘commi’ as an insult went out of style forty years ago when the guy got tired of waiting and punched Enjolras in the mouth._

_Enjolras doubled over, covering his mouth with his hands, tasting blood,_ seeing _blood when he moved his fingers away. He couldn’t even stand all the way back up before the third guy, the one who hadn’t said anything yet, got a punch in on his eye._

_Enjolras staggered back, and the first guy took the opportunity to throw him to the ground in the alley, out of sight from the windows of the apartments. He bent over and grabbed Enjolras by the collar._

_“This is what you get for fucking with me,” he said, before he stood up and pulled his leg back._

_“I didn’t do—” was all Enjolras got out before the first kick hit him._

_Enjolras counted the blows as they came. One, two, three, four, five._

***

Tearing out of the dream, Enjolras wakes alone in an unfamiliar bed.

***

“Grantaire! Grantaire!”

The sound of Enjolras’s voice works better than any alarm clock Grantaire has ever had. He’s wide awake instantly, jumping off the couch and practically sprinting into the bedroom in his pajamas and bare feet.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Even in just the moonlight coming in through the window, Grantaire can tell that Enjolras is embarrassed, his face red.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to yell. I just had a bad dream and I freaked out. It’s nothing.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire says automatically, not needing to ask what the dream was about. “Do you need anything?”

“I don’t want to make you—”

“Enjolras, I’m offering.”

Enjolras exhales loudly. “Could I maybe have a glass of water?”

“Of course,” Grantaire says, turning from the room. He goes to the washroom quickly, then gets two glasses of water from the kitchen, one with a straw.

Enjolras tries to sit up when Grantaire gets back, but scrunches his face up in pain. Grantaire sets the glasses down on the nightstand and then takes hold of Enjolras underneath his arms, hauling him up into a reclining position and adjusting his pillow behind him. It’s ridiculous how easy it is for Grantaire to lift him; he weighs almost nothing.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says quietly when Grantaire hands him the water. Up close, Grantaire can see that his cheeks are wet under his eyes.

Enjolras hasn’t asked him to leave, so Grantaire goes around the bed to sit by his side.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asks, rubbing Enjolras’s arm.

Grantaire is expecting Enjolras to brush the whole thing off again, but something about the dark room and late hour – it’s almost four in the morning – seems to have lowered his defences. Enjolras shakes his head.

“It was worse,” Enjolras says slowly, tears still coming out silently. “It was a lot worse than I said before.”

Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras then, as gently as he can, pressing his face into Enjolras’s hair. “I know,” he says. “I’m so sorry they did that to you. If I could find them…”

Enjolras sets his glass of water down. “I couldn’t defend myself. I just froze. I didn’t yell or run… I didn’t even stand up for the group.” His voice is wobbling, uneven.

“Nobody expects that from you,” Grantaire says emphatically. “None of us would want you to put yourself in danger.” He’s not sure the point gets through to Enjolras, but it still needs to be said.

“They only stopped in the end because a car went by. If it hadn’t…” Enjolras trails off.

“It doesn’t matter what could have happened,” Grantaire says firmly. “You’re here now, and you’re going to be fine.”

Enjolras just nods, but a moment later, a sob escapes his lips by accident, and then the barrier is broken.

He turns around the best he can and buries his face in Grantaire’s shoulder, shaking as he cries. Grantaire holds him tighter, avoiding the spots that are sore. Soon, Enjolras is breathing heavily, and he presses a hand to his left side, where he was kicked, wincing in pain from his chest heaving.

“Hey, hey,” Grantaire says softly, maneuvering Enjolras so that he’s lying down again. “You gotta stop crying, you’re hurting yourself.” He kisses Enjolras’s forehead. “Shh, it’s okay.”

He can still feel Enjolras shaking beneath him, so Grantaire does what he can to calm him down.

He presses kisses onto every inch of exposed skin he can find, his mouth moving down Enjolras’s cheek on the side of his face that isn’t bruised. He lifts Enjolras’s hands and kisses them, too, moving slowly, feeling Enjolras’s breathing go back to normal. Enjolras shuts his eyes, allowing Grantaire to take care of him. Grantaire moves to Enjolras’s jaw, pulling the blanket up over his body so he can shift down lower. When he reaches Enjolras’s collarbone, he unbuttons the first button on Enjolras’s flannel shirt.

“Is this okay?” Grantaire mutters against Enjolras’s skin.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says breathily. “Just don’t touch my left side.”

“I know, I won’t,” Grantaire says, working the next button, wetting his lips and tracing them down Enjolras’s chest. Grantaire gets one of his knees between Enjolras’s, and holds himself up over Enjolras’s body so that he won’t hurt him.

Grantaire is halfway down Enjolras’s chest when his fingers work open the last button, and he lets the shirt fall open. Grantaire pulls back, gasping at what he’s revealed.

The entirely of Enjolras’s left side is covered in bruises, blue and purple colourations forming nebulae over his ribs.

“Oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire sighs, looking up at him. Enjolras’s eyes look sad when he sees himself, and Grantaire is torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to go kill the men who did this to him.

He sticks with the former – because it’s all he can do – continuing his travels down Enjolras’s stomach. Enjolras hums quietly as Grantaire touches him. Grantaire is deep under the covers now, his mouth almost at the waistband of Enjolras’s boxers. When he reaches it, he pulls it aside to slide his mouth across Enjolras’s hipbone.

“I can’t, um,” Enjolras says, lifting his head. “I can’t do anything. Like, you know—”

“I know, it’s okay, I wasn’t going to,” Grantaire says, looking up at him. “I’m just trying to get you to relax.”

“It’s working,” Enjolras exhales heavily, rolling his neck. “Sorry for being, um—” He gestures down to where his cock is straining against his boxers. “It just… it feels really good.”

Grantaire presses himself down against Enjolras’s leg, letting Enjolras feel how hard he is himself. “You’re crazy if you think this isn’t turning me on, too,” Grantaire tells him with a smile, making Enjolras laugh gently. “Your body is _wonderful_ ,” Grantaire says quietly, more to Enjolras’s hipbone than his face.

He doesn’t want to tease Enjolras too much, though, so he starts moving back up, still kissing Enjolras’s skin, finishing with on the side of his mouth not covered by the bandage. Then he settles down beside him.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras nods. “Thank you. For everything today. You were… you were wonderful.”

Grantaire can’t help but grin at that. “I’m glad I could be of help. And I’m glad you trust me enough that you still came here afterwards.”

“Of course I trust you,” Enjolras says. He reaches out a hand like he wants to pull Grantaire closer. “Will you stay in here with me? Please?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. There’s no way he could resist Enjolras inviting him to bed twice in one night. “You have to switch sides, though, so I won’t hurt you.”

Grantaire helps Enjolras shift over to the other side of the bed, then crawls in beside him, curling into him so that Enjolras can stay on his back. Grantaire can hear Enjolras’s heartbeat through his chest, and he thinks that he would probably be content to stay right there forever. As he dozes off, his tongue gets looser.

“I know I can’t say that no one will ever hurt you again,” Grantaire mumbles. “But I promise I’ll always be here to take care of you if they do.”

Enjolras presses his nose to Grantaire’s temple. “That’s good enough for me,” he says quietly.

It doesn’t take long for them both to fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
